Firefur Saga: Book One - An Oncoming Storm
by Eulaliaaaa
Summary: When a fox comes to Redwall before a great feast bearing ill tidings, Redwall is suspicious of him, especially as he procrastinates in telling them what his news IS. However, when the news is finally shared, the news is so ill, and sounds so fantastical, that they are not sure they believe him. Can Redwall ever be ready for the great storm that approaches? I do not own Redwall.
1. Prologue

_Gosh, it's been so long since I've done anything on , it seems like a lifetime ago. If any Redwall fans who are reading this have been waiting for a long time, please accept my apologies. It just seems that without reviews the motivation just isn't there so much to write. I have gotten into the third chapter of this story, but progress is slow, and I'm hoping reviews will speed it. It turns out that thinking out a story for so, so many years before writing it is counterproductive, because when one does write it, well, one already has written it in their heads, and so when one tries to put it on paper, it's hard to do so. Anyway, I hope I can satisfy you, my readers, cravings for an epic story._

_Sincerely, Eulaliaaaa_

FIREFUR SAGA: BOOK ONE: AN ONCOMING STORM

PROLOGUE:

In the seasons after the time of the wearet sea captain, Razzid, peace was hard to come by in any part of the land. Vermin lived up to their reputation as marauders and killers. For three generations, the land was ravaged by war. Flames roared in homesteads. Towns were built, and soon afterward destroyed by roving warlords. It seemed that the war between vermin and woodlanders had reached its peak. Several times, Redwall Abbey itself was besieged, but never once did it fall. Likewise, Salamandastron was often attacked. Just like Redwall, it never was conquered. Finally, the vermin simply disappeared.

Over the course of a single season, peace descended in all the lands. Nowhere were there vermin to be found in any significant military strength. Flitcheye were sometimes seen. Occasionally treetops would rustle with the passage of painted ones, and swamps were just as infested with reptiles as they usually were, but not one warlord, or vermin army, nor even a corsair ship could be seen anywhere. The otters of Green Isle repeatedly sent out patrols by ship, even to the islands of Terramort, and Sampetra, but if searats and corsairs were berthed there, none could be seen.

For a time, happiness was the order of life. Contentment and fearlessness ruled all Mossflower. Creatures grew up in the joy of peace, neither knowing, nor caring where the vermin had gone, or what they were doing. All that mattered was that there were no more raids on the coastline. No more ambushes on the roads, no more assaults with fire and steel in the dead of night, no more assassinations of community leaders... it seemed like heaven.

In Mossflower, it may have been almost perfect, but the vermin were developing, growing. Even as peace reigned in the realms of the woodlanders, the vermin took a huge step forward in creating a civilized culture. Countries were formed, with hierarchies and kingships, strength was gathered. Many warlords pledged their allegiance to their kings with unquestioning loyalty, which was not demanded by fear mongering, but bought with strength and as wise judgment as the rulers could find. No longer were vermin savages or ruffians.

They gathered together into a council, to deliberate and discuss what to do about the woodlanders, and their seemingly unshakable power on the mainland. There was much debate, but some warlords and chieftains, who had refused to pledge allegiance to anyone, grew impatient. They abandoned the council, and mustered their considerable strength into an armada that would sail for Mossflower.

Then, something happened that was a tremendous boon to the renegade warlords. Something that would make Mossflower seem like hell to her residents, and would go down in the history books as the greatest disaster in recorded times. Salamandastron erupted. The mountain stronghold blew it's top off. Thanks to the primeval instincts that still exist in all beasts, most of the hares and their badger lord did escape the destruction of the mountain, just in time to see the armada arrive. From the warlords' viewpoint, they woke up one morning to find their greatest deterrent for the conquest of Mossflower severely damaged, deserted, and belching smoke, ash and fire into the sky.

Yelling and screeching with delight, the vermin army poured onto the beach north of Salamandastron in their thousands, pounding like the footsteps of doom towards the mountain pass that led towards Redwall Abbey. The air all around was thick with ash. The vermin were forced to wrap cloths around their heads as protection against the hot, grey cloud. As such, they didn't see the six-score hares waiting for them at the top of the pass until their front rank was cut down by a hail of javelins. Lord Scarod of Salamandastron had left behind most of his force to hold off the vermin, while he and the remaining score of his hares hurried ahead to warn Redwall.

Screaming with shock and milling in confusion, more javelins thudded in, but after the second volley, the vermin commanders took charge, and the invaders swept up towards the hares in a wild charge. They ran into a wall of spears, causing further casualties among the vermin ranks, but before long, the sheer weight of numbers forced the hares into a headlong retreat, rushing down towards the plains. With night coming on and the hares driven away, the vermin camped at the top of the pass.

The hares traveled throughout the night, and on the second morning since the rout at the pass, they arrived at Redwall. The Redwallers had sent out a force of Guosim, otters, waterhogs, and squirrels of the reinstated Mossflower patrol to try to meet the vermin in the open field. The Abbey was preparing itself for siege: shoring up gates, gathering in supplies, and turning out the armory which had been built onto the cellars during the wild seasons. All the while, the clouds of smoke and ash that Salamandastron continued to pour forth crept across the heavens, blocking out the light of the sun.

As the suffocating cloud reached Redwall, the woodlanders who had tried to fight the vermin army ran, exhausted, back to the Abbey. They had made their stand on the Ridge of a Thousand, the six hundred woodlanders facing similar odds as in the famous battle after which the ridge was named. Much like the battle against the Rapscallions, their line held for a time, but then they were overwhelmed. Many woodlanders escaped, but they got the worse end of the exchange. As night fell, the battle weary woodlanders, and still-traumatized hares, along with volunteers of the Abbey, were forced to man the walls as the vermin marched on Redwall.

No battle in all Redwall's history was like the one that followed. It was hellish. The night was pitch dark, no star-light or moonlight could pierce the dense cloud of ash. Torches flared among the vermin ranks, massing in the road. Arrows whistled overhead, invisible in the gloom, causing death and injury in the ranks of defenders and attackers alike. Fire swingers blazed across the night, some hitting the wall and falling back to the road, but most soared into the Abbey grounds, setting fire in the fields, hedges, and orchard. Grappling hooks were tossed up, then hewn by the defenders. Ladders were raised, and vermin would swarm up them onto the wall, until the ladders were cast down in ruin upon the road. A large ram thudded into the main Abbey gate repeatedly and monotonously. Matters grew worse, for as the night wore on, the cloud of ash overhead began raining it's substance down upon the earth, making breathing difficult and visibility almost zero.

Frustrated with their inability to take the walls, which were crowded with combined hundreds of woodlanders, Redwallers, and hares of the Long Patrol, the vermin warlords transferred their efforts to breaching the gates. They used the falling ash to their advantage and redeployed two hundred soldiers to each of the three small wallgates, while keeping the other, slightly larger half of their force on the Abbey's west side. The small wallgates were set alight, and then hacked at with sword, axe, cutlass and spear. Buckets of water were hurled at the flames which danced eerily in the darkness, often missing. Those that hit were cancelled out as vermin would splash oil on the doors, or hold torches against them. Soon the fires burned uncontrollably. At the main gate, the fire swinger brigades targeted the gate, and the ram continued to pound the structure. Before long, all four gates into the Abbey grounds were sure to break in a short time.

Realizing that the wallgates would not last much longer, Lord Scarod ordered a full retreat into the main Abbey building. The defenders fell back quickly, and though the vermin charged through when the gates fell, there was no one to fight. They searched the grounds for some time, then hails of arrows erupted from the Abbey building, targeting any torch outside. Vermin fell stricken left and right, causing chaos in the ranks of the attackers. In blizzard of ash, it was almost impossible to restore order, and scores upon scores of vermin were slain before the warlords could scramble together a poorly organized attack on the Abbey building. Windows were shattered, only for the attackers to find them boarded up. The main door was quickly breached when the battering ram was brought in, but just inside was a solid phalanx, backed by slingers and javelin throwers. Wildly, the battered vermin hordes charged the door, fighting more to get away from the choking ash than to defeat the woodlanders.

It was a massacre. The defending formation could kill the vermin faster than they could come through the doorway. Realizing this, the warlords set others to break down the boards covering the windows. Once they got through, they were greeted by woodlanders wielding swords, hammers, and axes. All the while arrows poured down on any vermin that could be seen in the grounds. After hours of this nightmarish slaughter had passed, the surviving warlords retreated. Abandoned by their leaders, the remaining vermin panicked and fled, pursued out of the grounds by the woodlanders and their arrows.

The battle was over, but ash continued to fall. The next morning it stopped, and the cleanup was begun. The Abbey was repaired, the fallen buried, and ash was dug into the earth as fertilizer. Ashes of many kinds fell that season, ashes of war, grief, and burning hot volcanic ashes. As a result, the season was renamed in the Abbey chronicles, and the chronicles of all of Mossflower, the Summer of Ash.

Four seasons later, the woodlanders were satisfied of two things. One, that Salamandastron was now at peace, and the other, that vermin were sufficiently demoralized that they would never attack again. When the hares and their badger Lord returned to Salamandastron, several seasons later, they found the mountain almost twice its original size. Not wanting to risk total destruction if the mountain _did_ erupt again, they fortified the mountain, placing walls which circled on its slopes, and building a large castle on the peak, leaving an open space in the center in case of any future eruptions. So cautious were they, that their homes and habitations were built on the slopes of the western mountains which divided the shores from the great west plains. Peace returned to Mossflower.

However, contrary to the woodlanders expectations, it would not last forever. The warlords returned to the council they had previously abandoned, apologizing for their rashness, and bringing back tales of the wrath of the woodlanders. The council was shaken by the news, but they continued their plans. Three kingdoms were formed. One was ruled by the Greatrats, lords of all Wavevermin. Terramort was rebuilt, Sampetra colonized, and preparations for blockading Green Isle were begun. In the deep south, farther than even Southsward, the ancient Wildcat Kingdom of old was remade, building mighty fortifications and towns. Finally, a new order arose, ruled by foxes. These were relatives of the Marlfoxes, in the bloodline of famous corsair captains like Plugg Firetail and Vizka Longtooth. The Firefur clan, they were named, and they built a mighty country in and around the northern mountains. They rebuilt the kingdom of Malkariss on the southern highlands, and expanded it, so that it dwarfed its former glory. These kingdoms waited, patiently building their might, increasing their knowledge, capturing and enslaving any woodlanders who sighted them, comfortable in the knowledge that one day, in some distant time, they would be unstoppable.


	2. Chapter 1

_Well guys, here is chapter one, it's an unusually long one. My plan is to upload chapters for this story weekly on Thursdays, I should be able to manage that. Unfortunately, I've only currently got three chapters after this one written, so there isn't much of a buffer for slow writing or writers block if either of those annoying story delayers happen. There may be some weeks when I upload late, or not at all, but I'll try not to let that happen. _

_Quick note about this chapter, the first 650 words are me describing my vision of what Redwall Abbey is like, and what's currently going on. After that the story really gets started. Enjoy!_

_Sincerely, Eulaliaaaa_

CHAPTER ONE

The Abbey of Redwall appeared as a gem amid the emerald green display of late summer Mossflower wood. The Abbey stood square on the side of the main north-south road. Four red-sandstone walls surrounded the main building and grounds, a small wicker gate in the center of the north, east, and south walls. The west wall, which faced the road, contained the main gate to the Abbey, and a small, cottage-like gatehouse was built on just inside the gate. Each wall was high and thick, with walkways, battlements, and protruding crenellations along the top.

In the center of the grounds, seemingly piercing the sky, was the main abbey building. Like the walls, it was made of red sandstone, often seeming to glow warmly in the light of dawn or dusk. On its north side, a bell tower was attached. Stained glass windows could be seen, and the walls were carved, with half pillars, arched windows, wide sills, and friendly looking gargoyles perched on corners and projections. The main door faced west, like the gate, but there were also smaller doors, a south entrance, and a north-east entrance. Vegetable and flower gardens grew in abundance around the base of the structure, with cobbled pathways winding among them.

The grounds of the Abbey were the picture of fertility. Beehives, to provide Redwall with honey and beeswax, were situated in the southeast corner of the grounds. Near the hives was a large pond, where watercress, fish, and shrimp could be found during much of the year. Reeds grew around its border, and fields stretched out from the pond, dominating the southern portion of the Abbey grounds. These fields were often used for sporting contests and games. The western side was similar, but further north, more vegetable and flower gardens, hedges and winding paths, took up a large chunk of the area. The north side of the grounds was devoted to cereal crops, grain, wheat, rye, and oats, all of which were tended by the good creatures of Redwall.

The eastern side of the grounds was a favorite place for many. The orchard that defined the area grew apples, pears, plums, damsons, quince, cherry and all other fruits native to the area could be found there. South toward the beehives were hedges of berry bushes, bilberry, blueberry, raspberry, blackberry, and the strawberry patch, where every summer the dibbuns of Redwall would cause chaos as they tried to consume the entire crop. There were grapevines growing along the wall, and between the wheat fields and orchard lay a small woodland of beech, chestnut, oak and other nut producing trees. All in all, Redwall Abbey was a beautiful, legendary, self-sufficient haven.

Looking down from the sky, any bird might have thought it a peaceful scene. They couldn't be more wrong. The Abbey was exploding with activity. Trestle tables were carried out into the orchard. Squirrels set up an archery range for their contests, or scampered around the nut grove bringing in squirrels favorite food. Hedgehogs picked flowers in the gardens for the tables. Otters trawled the pond for shrimp, fish and more shrimp. Dibbuns hurtled about, yelling and laughing as they 'helped' by knocking fruit out of the orchard trees and then eating it. Sisters and brothers of the Abbey dashed after them, scolding them and attempting to save the autumn harvest. Moles, mice, and voles worked together to bring the vegetables and grains to the kitchen, where they were transformed by world famous Redwall cooking into delicious food, the aromas of which drifted about until they filled all of Redwall. Rowdy ballads could be heard echoing from the cellars, where some of the less-reserved male beasts were testing the quality of the wines and ales. In the middle of it all, the Abbess and her supportive husband tried to keep order and organization, working hard to keep various parties out of each other's way. In short, chaos reigned as all Redwall prepared for a great feast.

There was but one peaceful place in the Abbey of Redwall. This was where the assistant recorder, Pundit, sat upon the east wall, reading a hefty volume. He had his recorders journal next to him, just in case someone asked what he was doing. He could always say he was reading Husk's account of the Summer of Ash to figure out how to write something in his journal, which at other times would be true. Maybe. Now, Pundit hunched over the tome, scanning the familiar words attentively, enjoyment evident in his expression.

A young, pretty mousemaid stepped quietly up the wall stairs towards Pundit. She stopped at the top in front of him, folding her arms into the sleeves of the simple, light green dress she wore. A smile hovered around her whiskers as she cleared her throat noisily, "Ahem."

Pundit frantically slammed his volume shut. He lunged wildly at his recorder's journal, accidently missing and knocking journal and quill pen off the wall into the grounds as he babbled excuses, "I was only researching writing styles for my recording, I was about to get back to it! Oh, bollox, there goes my journal."

The mousemaid laughed cheerily, causing Pundit to look up from his fallen notebook to the mousemaid. He sighed and collapsed back against the battlements, clapping a paw over his eyes, muttering, "Oh, I'm such an idiot."

The mousemaid shook her head, still smiling, "No you're not, you're brilliant."

Pundit stood up and shook his head, "Brother Samuel wouldn't agree. He says I'm an irresponsible young rip."

The mousemaid took Pundit's paw, "Perhaps, but responsibility and intelligence don't have much to do with one another. Wisdom, on the other paw..."

Pundit smiled wryly at her, "Thanks, Cloy, but I'm sure you didn't come up here to lecture me on wisdom. What am I needed for?"

Cloy smiled and patted the paw she was holding, "See? You may nearly always read your favorite book when you're supposed to be recording the annals of the Abbey, but you're a willing helper. Mother Abbess wants us to help in the kitchens until the squirrels arrive, then keep that rascally Ash out of mischief."

Pundit smiled and skipped off down the steps, "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Cloy tsked severely as she followed Pundit down the steps, "Me, I hope. Slow down, the kitchens aren't going anywhere!"

Pundit stopped halfway down the steps and offered his arm. Cloy walked down to him and took it with a smile. Side by side they continued down into the grounds, chatting together. "I enjoy Ash." Pundit mused, "He's always full of fun."

Cloy giggled, "Like the time he glued Friar Haro's cooking cap onto his head, then distracted him so much with insane babble that he could get away."

Pundit chuckled at the memory as he bent to collect his journal and pen, "Yep, or when he dropped a net over Skipper's fishing crew when they came out of the pond, what irony!"

Cloy shook her head, "Honestly, for the prince of squirrels Ash is a proper prankster. Of course, so was Squirrelqueen Aspen when she was young, if Abbess Violet's stories are anything to go by."

"True." Pundit paused and waved to the Abbess, who was talking with Brother Samuel, the recorder, "Hello, Mother Abbess! We're off to the kitchens, and we'll try to keep Ash out of trouble when he gets here!"

The young Abbess nodded in satisfaction, "Thank you, and good luck with that squirrel!"

Pundit gave a respectful salute and started off, but Samuel hailed him, "Hold on there, young mouse! How much writing have you gotten done during those two hours on the wall?"

Pundit winced and gave Samuel an apologetic look. The elderly mouse shook his head, "I can already tell by Husk's account of the Summer of Ash there beside your journal that you'll be lucky to have written down the first sentence of your daily entry. See me in the gatehouse after supper tonight, for a discussion about what a recorder does, and does not do."

"Yes, Brother Samuel." Pundit called glumly, "May I move on to the kitchens now?"

Samuel nodded with a small smile, leaning on a cane, "Aye, go on, be off with you, young rip!"

Pundit and Cloy continued on in silence. Passing vegetable and flower gardens on either side, they trotted up the steps together, through the doors into Great Hall. This was the main gathering place of Redwallers. A huge, high, chamber with arched ceilings and stained glass windows running up the side walls, it was a place of supreme majesty in the majestic Redwall Abbey. It was also the home of the famous Redwall tapestry, which depicted many famous scenes of ancient history. The foremost of these was picture of a heroic looking armored mouse, leaning on his sword, as vermin and evil creatures fled from him in all directions. This was Martin the Warrior, the ancient hero of Redwall Abbey, who would sometimes appear in dreams to Redwallers in times of danger. Pundit gave him a nod in greeting as he passed the tapestry. It may have been a trick of the light and swirling dust motes, but out of the tail of Pundit's eye, he thought he saw Martin nod back.

"You sure have a knack for getting into trouble with Samuel, don't you?" Cloy commented.

Pundit sighed in response, what he might or might not have seen forgotten, "Yes. I know exactly what he's going to say at our 'talk' too." he paused, and then imitated Samuel's stern voice, "'Pundit, when a recorder is recording, he doesn't read, he writes! Wearing out your eyes reading something you've read a dozen times already doesn't get anything done.' Huh, then he'll go on about responsibility and work ethic. It's always the same."

"He's right, though." Cloy looked up at Pundit, "You know he's right."

Pundit frowned, "Yeah. I know."

By now they were down the steps from Great Hall into Cavern Hole, a smaller, more comfortable chamber which connected to the kitchens. Friar Haro was in charge in said kitchens, a short, fat vole wearing an oversized chef's cap and white apron. As soon as Pundit and Cloy entered the bustling, chaotic, delicious smelling world called the Redwall kitchens, he saw them and put them to work in his high pitched squeak, "Ahh! Pundit and Cloy is it? Right! Help Sister Agnes there with the summer salad, then see what you can do with Gurdlespike and her woodland pudding. Also, Cellarhog Rustip needs someone to keep him focused and sober in the cellars after that. Oh, and then see if you can put together a Great Hall cake! Go on, young mice, get to it! A great feast won't prepare itself!"

Pundit held up his paws helplessly, "Alright! Alright Friar! We'll get right on it! Gosh, you've given us a lot to do in only a little time, but we'll do our best!"

Haro whirled on Pundit, prodding him in the chest with a chubby finger and squeaking, "You think _you've_ got a lot to do! Two days hence I have to have prepared a full blown Redwall feast that is supposed to put all others to shame! It's a key part of our celebration of two-hundred seasons of peace! But I can't do it for just Redwall, oh no! I've got to be prepared to cater for the whole country, _including_ about six-hundred famine faced Border and Long Patrol hares! You, young sir, have it easy! Now stop standing there like lovelorn ducks and get to work!"

The Friar spun and hurried off back into the culinary mayhem of the kitchen, giving out instructions at a rate that would have put the old Sparra tongue to shame. Cloy unhooked her arm from Pundit's and tossed him an apron, smiling, "Well, you heard him, stop standing there like a lovelorn duck and help me find Sister Agnes! She's disappeared already."

Cloy turned and disappeared into the crowd. Pundit struggled to don the cooking apron as he chased after her, muttering, "Humph, I'm not the only lovelorn duck the Friar was referring to."

FFS:B1:AOS

Cloy and Pundit were working together on the Great Hall cake amid the steam and scent of the ovens when a young squirrel snuck up behind them and stuck something in their head fur, "Hello lovebirds! How's the cake?"

Pundit reached up and pulled the object out of his fur and turned to the squirrel, studying it, "Hello Ash, what is this?"

Ash grinned mischievously, "It's a lovebird feather, you sprouted it!"

Cloy shook her head at the squirrelprince, this isn't a lovebird feather, it's a falcon's feather, how did you get a hold of it?"

Ash winked at them as he bounded up onto the counter, "A hawk was flying low to the ground around the Abbey, so I jumped out of a tree onto its back! It knocked a few feathers loose, and the feathery flier flopped straight to the ground."

Pundit gazed sternly at Ash, who was bounding over the countertops and sampling cooling dishes, "And what, the hawk just flew away after you jumped on his back?"

Ash skipped in front of Sister Agnes, the infirmary keeper, snatched a pawful of her candied chestnuts, and stuffed them in his mouth, mumbling around them, "Nof, Ig glwared a' meh f'rst."

Agnes rapped his paw sharply with a ladle, "Ash! Don't tell such dreadful fibs! And be gone! I can't have you stealing my chestnuts, out, out!"

She raised the ladle and chased the chortling squirrel out of the kitchens, "And stay out!"

Pundit and Cloy passed her as she stood at the kitchen entrance, shaking her head with despair, "My word, that young squirrelprince! You have to watch him every minute or something goes wrong!"

Pundit nodded at her and agreed, "Aye, and we'll do just that, watch him. We'll see you later, Sister."

Agnes waved her ladle, smiling wryly, "Oh, go on you two. Be sure to do that!"

"Good luck with your candied nuts and fruits arrangement!" Cloy called over her shoulder.

As they walked up the steps into Cavern Hole, Pundit stared at Cloy questioningly, "'Nuts and fruits arrangement,' couldn't you have worded that better?"

Cloy shrugged carelessly, completely used to Pundit's frequent literary criticisms, "On short notice? No, I couldn't. Does it matter?"

Pundit shook his head, "I guess not, it just sounded a little funny. Where is that rascal Ash?"

"Right behind you, lovebirds!"

Pundit felt the familiar sensation of having a feather stuck into his headfur and whirled on Ash, "Will you stop doing that?"

Cloy pulled the feather out and found it was another falcon feather, "Great seasons, Ash! How many feathers did that falcon lose, or did you yank them out?"

Ash grinned and hopped innocently from paw to paw, chattering away, "Just those four feathers, and no I didn't yank them out! Hey, Pundit, what is it you want me to stop doing, giving you feathers or calling you two lovebirds?"

The assistant recorder smiled even as he shook his head incredulously, it was hard to stay angry at Ash for long, "How about both?"

"I don't know, why are you asking me?" Ash quipped.

"I'm not asking, I'm telling in a sarcastic tone." Pundit stated flatly, "Honestly, what is it with creatures associating love with birds? First Friar Haro calling us lovelorn _ducks_, now you calling us love_birds_... what is it with lovebirds- err, love AND birds?"

"Yeah, what is it with you two lovebirds? Teehe!" Ash twittered, then ducked Pundit's paw, "Ah! Okay, okay! I dunno, maybe it's because when you're in love you feel like you're flying and birds fly."

Pundit and Cloy exchanged glances, and looked at Ash knowingly. The young squirrel stared back at them, clueless, "What?"

Pundit smiled, copying Ash's famous mischievous grin, "How would _you_ know that Ash? Is there someone you're not telling us about?"

Ash's eyes widened until he looked positively horrorstricken, "NO! Certainly not! I just, I've heard that! Treetops and timber! Me, in love?! Blaugh!"

The two mice broke down laughing at Ash's expression, eyes crossed with his tongue sticking out. Ash's face returned to normal as he frowned defensively, "Well, what? Isn't it true, feels like flying and so on?"

Cloy wiped away a tear of merriment as she answered, "Hehe, well, yes, occasionally. It does feel something like flying, from time to time."

Pundit shrugged, grinning broadly, "I don't think 'flying' would be the best adjective one could select to describe how it sometimes feels, but its close enough."

Ash frowned, "Oh, enough of this. You two are here to watch me, right?"

Pundit nodded, "Yes we are."

Ash grinned, "Well, then, watch... and do nothing else!"

With that the young squirrel dashed away, scurrying off into the orchard, leaving Pundit and Cloy to race after him, shouting, "Oh, no we won't, young rascal! We were also told to keep you out of mischief, and that we will do too!"

Ash turned to face them and grimaced, "Well, good luck. You know, that's how my mum has young squirrels train for sentry duty, watching me and keeping me out of mischief, but few succeed. But I know you two, you'll keep track of me no matter what I do."

Cloy smiled, "Yes, we will."

Ash frowned and scuffed his footpaws against the grass, "Yeah."

He looked up and past the two mice and nodded respectfully, "Hello, Mother Abbess."

Pundit shook his head despairingly, "Ash, that's the oldest trick in the book, you don't actually think I'm going to believe you, do you?"

Then, someone cleared her throat and spoke from behind, "I actually am back here Pundit."

At the sound of her voice, the two mice whirled around, both beginning to say, "Good morn-". The Abbess interrupted and threw up her paw, "But don't...!" she paused and clapped her paw to her forehead, "And he's gone."

Pundit and Cloy spun around again, staring at the empty space where Ash had been a minute before. Shaking her head, Abbess Violet stepped up beside the two mice. Pundit turned and squeaked, "We were watching him Mother Abbess!"

Violet smiled at them, "I know, you _were_. Still, version two of the oldest trick in the book, and you two fell for it. Not to worry, so did I with Aspen! Go on, find the rascal. More likely, he'll find you, but find him either way, and don't take your eyes off him for anyone."

Pundit and Cloy began jogging away in search of Ash, "Right Mother," Pundit saluted, "We'll keep him out of trouble. Ash! Ash you fleet footed sneak, where are you?"

As he passed into the orchard, a half-eaten orange flew out of a tree and caught him between the ears. Pundit stopped and gasped in shock as Ash's voice rang out cheerfully from above, "Sneak! Hah, I should hope so, you're like a blundering badger bellowing through a horn. Come 'on, orange-head, catch me if you can!"

There was a rustle in the orchard leaves, a flash of red fur where Ash jumped from one tree to another. Growling in exasperation, Pundit gave chase, with Cloy hurrying after him and laughing quietly.

FFS:B1:AOS

As night fell, Redwallers retired to dinner in Great Hall. It was a pleasant time, with good food, good friends, and good creatures sharing the cavernous hall. Before long, however, the food was gone. The Abbess announced that she wanted to give Lord Mydar and the visiting hares of the Long and Border patrols a grand welcome when they arrived the next day. Many of the elders retired to Cavern hole to plan the welcome as kitchen helpers cleared the tables. There was a short time of singing and riddle games, and Brother Aldrid brought out one of his impossible drawings, this one of staircases that led up to platforms that were at the same height as the ones at the foot of the staircases. Then, the dibbuns were sent up to bed, and many Redwallers and woodlanders joined them. Pundit and Cloy stayed up with a group of other young ones, playing the shell game with Skipper's talented niece, Brook. The jolly ottermaid winked at Pundit as she placed three shells on the table, with a candied chestnut under the middle one, "Right, mate, this un's yours. Guess right, and you get the nut. 'ere goes!"

The shells moved like lightning under her paws, skidding around the table in a blur. Only Pundit's eyes moved, flashing after the shells, keeping track of which one concealed the nut. Suddenly a draft, coupled with somebeast's push, slammed the door to Great Hall wide. Samuel stood in the doorway and cleared his throat, staring pointedly at Pundit, who looked back at him for a moment, nodded, then returned his attention to the table. Samuel shook his head, but waited patiently.

Brook continued spinning the shells around the tabletop for another couple minutes, giving Pundit plenty of time to lose the shell, or catch up again. Finally she stopped, lined up the three shells, and leaned back, gasping as she released the breath she'd been holding, "Righteyo, Pundit, guess! Ye looked away, but you've still got a one in three chance!"

Pundit crouched down and placed his eye just above the table, peering at the tabletop closely. After a minute, he stood up, shook his head, and smiled, "I've got better than that. The one on my right."

Brook jumped in shock, then flipped over the shell Pundit had chosen. There lay the candied chestnut. There was a collective gasp from the audience. Cloy took Pundit's paw, "How did you know?"

Pundit picked up the candied nut and showed it to everyone, "The nut gave it away. It is heavier than air, so on the occasions when this shell was let go, it slowed down a little faster than the others. Also, the fact it was sticky slowed down the nut a little bit more. Since it was sticky, it left a sticky trail on the finish of the wood. If you put your eye down close to the table like I did, you can see the thin trail left by the nut shining in the candlelight. You may want to hide something else under the shell in the future Brook."

Ash shook his head in amazement, "Wow, Pundit, how'd you know all that?"

Pundit shook his head, "I didn't. I guessed it, then found that my observations confirmed my suspicions, though I must say, all the signs I listed were _very_ hard to spot."

Before anyone could question him further, Pundit stepped away from the table, passing the candied nut to Cloy and waving, "I've got to go, guys, Samuel wants to talk to me again."

There was a quiet groan of disappointment, but the youngsters waved at Pundit as he left, calling out various farewells, "Bye Pundit!" "See you soon!" "Hope you don't get chewed out Too badly!" "Come meet us here again tomorrow!"

Their sounds were cut off as Pundit closed the main abbey door behind him with a gentle thud. Samuel nodded at him approvingly and squeaked, "Well done getting the nut. You just demonstrated why I chose you to be my assistant. You're sharp as Martin's sword, and you notice the little things. You get ideas, and don't just leave them, but do what it takes to see if they're correct."

"Thank you, Brother," Pundit said as he walked toward the gatehouse with the old mouse.

They crossed the lawns and stepped inside the small cottage-like structure. Pundit took Samuel's coat and hung it on a hook, and the old recorder creaked about the room, lighting candles until a warm glow filled the dusty air. Samuel stepped around his large desk and settled comfortably down in a huge, stuffed easy chair that made him look tiny, leaning his cane against it. Pundit stood on the other side of the desk, tail tying and untying itself, awaiting instructions. Samuel coughed and motioned with his hand, "Sit down, Pundit."

The young mouse pulled up a wooden chair and sat, tail still working itself into knots as he faced the old mouse, who, he realized, was the closest creature he had to a father. Samuel coughed again and leaned forward, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, "Right then, young mouse, what do you think I'm going to say, eh?"

Pundit reached up and absentmindedly grabbed a quill pen, turning it over in his hands. His voice was quiet and low, "You're going to tell me that I shouldn't be reading when I'm supposed to be writing."

"Wrong!" Samuel squeaked firmly, "Now, guess again."

Pundit looked up at him in surprise, "But, that's what you always say!"

The old mouse nodded, "It is, but that is my fault. Let me explain. It matters not when you make your daily entry, or even that you make an entry in the annals of Redwall every day! As a matter of fact, putting off writing the annals to the end of the day has some major benefits! You tell me, what are they?"

Pundit was completely stunned. This was entirely different than previous disciplinary sessions with his teacher. He scrambled for his thoughts, "Um, because it means you can just write one entry a day, so if something important happens in the afternoon, you don't have to go and write a second entry about it. It could save time overall. Is that right?"

Samuel wrinkled his nose, "You're asking me? Of course it is, Pundit! If something is correct, you need to decide that for yourself, not always come asking me."

Pundit smiled slightly, "Ah, but there are some things I don't know."

His teacher nodded, "Indeed, there are. There are things I don't know. When we don't know something, we ask those with more information tucked away in their brains. However!" Samuel emphasized, jabbing his thin finger against the desktop, "You must learn to have confidence in yourself, to have confidence in the answers you discover. If you know it's right, why ask me?"

Pundit looked up, trying to think of an answer. Samuel shook his head at the young mouse, "It was a rhetorical question, there _is_ no reason to ask me, if you know the answer is correct."

"Actually I can think of two." Pundit commented, "Confirmation, and furthering your education."

Samuel sighed and leaned back in the chair, "Yes, but when something is as blatantly obvious as saving time with one entry instead of possibly two, it is safe to assume I already know about it. It is also certain that you should not need confirmation from me to know it's true. Understand?"

Pundit's response was an immediate nod, "Yes, sir."

Samuel flicked a wrinkled finger at him, "Don't 'sir' me, we're friends as well as teacher and pupil. Now, this conversation has gone entirely off track. My point was, I am going to tell you _why_ you should not use writing as an excuse to go read something you have memorized when other creatures could use your help."

The old mouse fell silent, letting Pundit figure it out. A minute later Pundit nodded, "I see."

"And what do you see?"

Pundit looked up at his teacher, "I see that using writing as an excuse to go read is like using work as an excuse to be lazy, and not actually get anything done. If other creatures saw me doing that, it could discourage them, or create bitter feelings between them and me."

Samuel nodded with satisfaction, "Quite right, and all the better that you thought it through for yourself. Goodnight!"

Pundit blinked in shock at the abruptness of his dismissal, "Goodnight?"

"Yes!" the old mouse squeaked, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, "I'm tired, our conversation has fulfilled its purpose, and you're keeping me up. _Goodnight_!"

Pundit grinned and left for his dormitory, saying warmly, "Goodnight, Brother Samuel."

Pundit crossed the lawns and went back inside the main door, closing it softly after him. He noticed that the table had been abandoned by the shell game players, leaving the shells on the table. Shrugging, he moved towards the hall entrance to the first floor dormitories, blowing out the candles dancing in Great Hall as he did. He strolled into the dormitory hall and paused momentarily. Just outside the dormitory that the young maidens shared, Cloy stood waiting for him in her nightgown with her habit draped over her shoulders. Pundit walked up and stopped a couple paces away, "Hello again, Cloy."

Cloy cocked her head to one side concernedly, "He didn't chew you out too badly, did he?"

Pundit smiled, "No, not this time. Actually it was quite different. I think he's been re-evaluating his correction strategy."

Cloy sighed with relief, "Good."

Pundit looked at her quizzically, "Why were you concerned? Samuel doesn't bite."

"Yes, I know he doesn't, but I also know how you look up to him," Cloy explained, "Sometimes a harsh word from those we care about hurts more than a 'bite'."

Pundit thought about that for a moment. Then a slow smile spread across his whiskers, "That's... very wise, Cloy."

Cloy shrugged dismissively, "Maybe, but I am training to be an infirmary keeper, we must know about injuries of the soul as well as the body, they are actually far more common."

Pundit smiled and said teasingly, "Well then, if my soul ever gets injured I'll come and let you see to it."

Cloy chuckled softly and shook her head, "Sure."

Suddenly Pundit frowned and commented, "You know, technically, you shouldn't be out here in your nightgown."

Cloy rolled her eyes, "'Technically' I'm wearing my habit over it, but you're right. Goodnight Pundit."

"Goodnight Cloy."

Pundit watched her turn and go back into her own dormitory, then walked down to the next door down the hall, where he shared a large room with the other young male beasts. He walked down the aisle between beds until he came to the empty one that was his own. He got under the covers, and within a few minutes had fallen asleep.

After a short time of strange, fitful dreams, Pundit found himself floating in a cloud of smoke. He looked around in confusion, then felt a chill wind blow the smoke off to one side. As he began to be able to see, a great clamor of noise rang out from far below him. Horns blasted, echoing off unseen walls. Thunderous war chants were shouted out, shaking the air... and then the sound off bells. With a start, Pundit realized that the bells were the Mathias and Methuselah bells of his own abbey, but instead of their usual melodious tones, they clanged harshly, rung by creatures who were practically shaking in their fur. Pundit looked down, and the smoke cleared away in areas, while continuing to rise from fires in others. The horrifying night time battle was spread below his feet.

Redwall Abbey was surrounded by countless firebrands, each carried by a vermin soldier. Teeming masses of them were marching in formation to battle stations. With creaks and groans of timber, huge, flaming boulders were hurled through the air, crashing over the Abbey's outer wall to set the grounds alight. Crashing thuds assaulted his ears as, far below, huge rams smashed into each of Redwall's four gates. The whir and clang of grappling hooks, and the scraping of ladders grated harshly from the east and north walls, while groans of overburdened wood moaned from the south and west plains as huge, vague shapes advanced slowly towards the Abbey. Vicious, metal platforms at the top of these shapes, burdened with archers, crept along above the haze of smoke and battle. The hiss of arrows whistled between the walls and road, trees and fields. Cries of the wounded filled the air. Commanders shouted orders, wild beasts roared, and from Mossflower wood a chorus of eerie howls echoed on the breeze.

Pundit stared down at the battle below, shaking his head in disbelief as tears streamed down his cheeks. Then he was aware that a figure was approaching, he looked up, and found it was Martin the Warrior. However, contrary to what he would have expected, he found no comfort in the appearance off the legendary warrior. His face was drawn and grave, not at all comforting. He stopped several steps away from Pundit, gazing intently at him. Numb with disbelief, Pundit asked desperately, "Martin, what is this? What is going on?"

Martin winced slightly, then gestured at the horror below, "This, is a future… one that almost certainly shall happen; but for now, listen to me."

Obediently, Pundit fell silent, as did the clamor of battle below, and Redwall's hero began speaking in a measured tone:

"There are two crests, but one family,

Which to trust and who to fear?

The final battle for Redwall is near.

Follow the one who loves peace and courage,

Wield my sword, orphan like I,

Goodbeasts must fight, with all will, might, and heart,

Heed my warnings, follow my words

And in time, perhaps, vict'ry will be won."

Pundit stared in confusion and opened his mouth to question the warrior mouse, but Martin cut him off, continuing:

"Never have I put a riddle so plainly,

For never have the times ahead been so dire,

When the answers are here, you shall perceive them,

And thusly, your friends need not despair."

Pundit fell silent, pondering what was said. Martin smiled sadly and spoke again, "I would wish you luck, or that the fates be with you, but neither exist, so such words would be empty. Use that sharp wit of yours. Never give up, Pundit, and never surrender."

With that the warrior turned and left. A mist followed him, and blocked out sight and sound of the battle below, or perhaps it had ceased. Then Pundit was carried by the wind, over plains and mountains, over hill and dale, forest and plain, sea and shore. Stars, suns, and skies wheeled overhead as the land passed below, and Pundit saw the whole of the lands. He saw fortresses on high hills, and fleets of huge ships. He passed over ranges of mountains, forests, and great lakes and rivers. Highlands and low seas sped by below. Deserts, of sand and of ice, passed him by.

Then images began appearing in the mist, many of which he did not understand. Farmers tended crops vigilantly. Cities of grandeur and great power were being built. A gleaming spike of marble stone rose into the sky out from the foot of a mountain. Then he saw more detailed images: a mouse-wife tending an infant, slaves being watched by vermin guards, a rat slipping captives food. He saw two young foxes, male and female, at the head of a vast army. Hares patrolled the border. A ferret sea captain gazed down into the slave galleys, pity in his eyes concealed under a thin shell. A vixen met secretly with an otter, then hid in the shadows as a vermin patrol passed. A battered slave smiled freely, and Pundit couldn't help but smile back.

Then, ranks of heavily armored vermin advanced, a phalanx of pikes level in front of them. Flames roared in the heights, and steel crashed on steel. Whips cracked and drums pounded in long slave galleys. Vermin, organized by weapon-type, charged forward as a mob. Many images of war and conflict followed in quick succession, blurring together. Then came darkness, and Pundit slept peacefully for the remainder of the night.


	3. Chapter 2

_Hello! We're back for some more of the Firefur Saga! As promised, I'm uploading on Thursday. I've been told that the characters so far have been charming. Well, some of the ones introduced in this chapter may not be charming, but they were certainly fun for me to write, and will be featured in the story very often, if not constantly! And, after Pundit's disturbing dreams, he wakes up the next morning. Please read and review, and like, and favorite, and subscribe- wait, that's youtube…_

_ Sincerely Eulaliaaaa_

CHAPTER TWO

Pundit woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. He got out of bed at the same time as several of the other young mice and woodlander male-beasts, threw on his habit and sandals and rushed out the door, down the hall and into Great Hall. He gave his customary nod to the tapestry of Martin the Warrior, then did a double take. He stared curiously at the image of the warrior mouse, even though his expression was the same as always, something about his gaze seemed stern, grim... even compelling. It tugged at the back of his mind, trying to unearth something. Great seasons, who knew _what_ he was trying to remember, or was it Martin reminding him of something? Or... what?

Shrugging dismissively, Pundit trotted over to the breakfast buffet, piled fruit and a loaf of white nut bread on his plate, then found a place next to Cloy at one of the long tables, "Good morning, Cloy." he greeted her cheerfully.

"Good morning, Pundit." she replied, "Did you have a nice sleep?"

Pundit paused. There was that thing tugging at the back of his mind again. "Do you know, I can't remember. Certainly a restful sleep though."

Cloy turned to look at him quizzically, "Would you expect to remember sleeping?"

Pundit shrugged, "Normally I'd say no, but for some reason I feel like I ought to have this morning."

Did you have any odd dreams, then?" Cloy asked.

Pundit shrugged again, taking a bite of his loaf, "Dunno."

Cloy chewed on a strawberry reflectively, "Well, I slept wonderfully, with no dreams to disturb me."

"Good."

At the head table, Abbess Violet stood up and rapped her spoon on the table, calling for silence. Great hall fell quiet as all attention was diverted towards her. "Attention everyone," Violet began, "I just wanted to announce that Lord Mydar and his hares will be arriving about lunchtime. When you hear the bells ring out to greet them, I want all of you to line up beside the path leading from gatehouse to Great Hall ready to welcome them in with a rousing, Redwall applause. They are the defenders of the coastlands, and so vigilant, that even for such a feast as this and in such peaceful times as these, they've left half the garrison at Salamandastron to guard against any potential invasions. I'm sure our good Friar Haro will also be pleased to hear this news, it means he will have five-hundred less stomachs-on-legs to feed."

The were some chuckles and a smattering of applause from around the hall at Violet's joke. The Abbess smiled and motioned with her paws, "Now, I believe I've detained you long enough, enjoy your food."

Everybeast did, for the food was delicious. Ripe fruit, well baked bread and honeyed or spiced oatmeal with mugs of cider or bowls of milk. The talk now turned largely towards the Lord of Salamandastron, that mysterious mountain by the sea, and its famous army, the Long Patrol. Brook nudged Ash, "The Long Patrol comin' 'ere! Mighty warriors with mightier appetites, those hares are. Excitin' eh mate?"

Ash grunted unenthusiastically as he slurped a bowl of milk, "Eh, seen 'em before. Well, not the actual Long Patrol, just the Border Patrol. Y' know, the Fur 'n Foot Border Rangers, or whatever they used to be called, who would scout the borders in the old days. The last badger lord re-instated them. I'm not sure they're all that they're cracked up to be."

Pundit leaned forward, indignant on behalf of the hares, "Hang on there! Basil Stag Hare, Matthias the Warrior's famous companion was of the Border Patrol. As for the Long Patrol not being all they're cracked up to be, you just try fighting them, or out eating them! Just try it, and you'll see they aren't over-rated."

"Well sure," Ash shrugged, "but I'm not going to but fighting them, now am I?"

"You'll be fighting them to get in line for the desert table," Cloy chuckled.

Ash laughed, "Well, yeah, there is that. I'll just trot over their heads, no hare will outpace me to the table!"  
The other three burst out laughing at Ash's outrageous claim. "We'll see about that, mate." Brook chuckled.

FFS:B1:AOS

The noon bells tolled out, then went on to ring four more times, announcing that visitors approaching the Abbey. Quickly, everybeast marshaled along the path leading from the gatehouse to the main Abbey building, just as the Abbess had instructed. Cloy, Pundit, Ash, and Brook managed to get to the front. They watched eagerly as the Abbess hurried up the wall stairs to the top of the gatehouse.

Everybeast in the grounds stood restlessly in eager anticipation. All eyes were turned to the Abbess on the battlements. Pundit watched as she conversed with the hares and their badger lord outside, unable to hear clearly what was being said. Finally Abbess Violet spread her paws wide and declared so all could hear, "Then we welcome you, our valiant allies, to Redwall Abbey!"

This was the signal, and the gates were swung creakingly open. Through the gate came marching a huge badger in armor, followed by ranks of hares. Redwallers and woodlanders together clapped and hollered, cheering the protectors of the shore and border until their throats rasped. The hares' immobile features slowly softened at the praise, then broke into smiles and laughter. Even Lord Mydar at their head cracked a grateful smile, blinked away a small tear, then bellowed, "Patrooolllls, halt! Companies, at ease! Dismissed!"

With that Mydar hurried toward the Abbess to greet her, and the hares and Redwallers scattered, blending together and introducing each other. Pundit hurried through the throngs, grinning with excitement, Cloy holding his hand so they wouldn't be separated. The hares, chatting cheerfully in their funny accents, quickly made friends with many, and tours were starting left, right and center. As the crowds began to disperse, Pundit noticed a solitary young hare strolling quietly through the orchard, looking around wearing an expression of awe.

Pundit and Cloy weaved their way toward the orchard, ducking their way through the throng. They came up to the hare greeted him cheerily, "Hello there!" Pundit began, "I'm Pundit, the assistant recorder, and this is Cloy."

The hare turned to face them and Cloy quickly shook his paw, "Hi! I'm training to be an infirmary assistant."

The hare raised an eyebrow as he shook paws with Pundit, "That so? Well done. The name's Lepus, of the Border Patrol."

Pundit smiled warmly at the hare, "Border Patrol, eh? Well, I suppose I'd be saying this regardless of which patrol you were in, but thank you."

Lepus turned to face the young mouse, his face grim, "I've done nothing."

"You've patrolled the border, haven't you?" Cloy asked kindly.

"Yes," Lepus replied in a low voice, "But I've never needed to defend it."

"But you were there in case you did need to," Cloy insisted, "That's what counts. You've done much for us, so we do thank you."

Lepus stared at her in shock, then shook his head disbelievingly. For the first time, a small smile wormed its way onto his face, "Really, I've not done much, but that is very kind of you. Thank you. Err, I mean, you're welcome… whichever."

Pundit's forehead wrinkled in confusion, "Um… you're welcome?"

Lepus rolled his eyes and smiled briefly, "Sure."

The three young creatures stood silently in the orchard for a moment, then a shadow passed over them, and they looked up. A fairly small falcon was circling the Abbey, staring down into the grounds. Pundit frowned slightly, "That's odd. Falcons are native to the north. I hope there's no trouble, or anything like that. It's been many generations since any visited Redwall."

Cloy smiled reassuringly at Pundit, "Oh, it's probably nothing, just a young falcon flying out on its own to have an adventure."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Lepus stated, gazing curiously at the bird as it circled around to the far side of the Abbey, "In Patrol we were always taught to observe, and not discount anything unusual."

Pundit turned and looked at the hare with an eyebrow raised, "That's wise. Still, what could a falcon possibly mean?"

The hare shrugged, "Plenty of things, but without more information, we can't accurately assume why it's here."

The three young creatures were silent for a moment, then Cloy asked, "So, Lepus, what do you think of Redwall Abbey?"

Lepus treated her to a wry smile, "You mean the little of it that I've seen?"

Cloy flushed slightly, "Yeah, I guess."

The hare looked around again, "It's impressive, I'll give it that. It's so peaceful out in the orchard, reminds me of being alone in a field on a sunny day, or visiting the graveyard."

Pundit blinked at Lepus in shock, "A visit to the graveyard! Why would this beauty remind you of a creepy place like a graveyard?"

The hare's features twisted in pain, and he closed his eyes and looked down. After a moment he rubbed a paw hastily over his eyes, straightened, and stared at Pundit, his voice low, "I shouldn't have mentioned it."

Pundit's face fell apologetically, "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I was just curious."

"Well get used to it," Lepus snapped venomously, "I have no interest in talking about it, so forget it!"

Pundit froze as if he'd been struck by the patroller's barbed words, and Cloy bristled in anger. "I said I'm sorry," the young mouse exclaimed.

Lepus whirled on him, pain and rage clouding his features, snarling, "Well, you can just…" the hare's mouth worked convulsively as he searched for words, "I don't know… you can just drop it!"

Suddenly Cloy sprang up to the hare, thrusting her angry features right into his own, "He had dropped it Lepus, you're just pounding him for no reason. Stop it! Something is eating you up inside, I'll be an infirmary keeper soon, so I can tell, but that doesn't mean you can take it out on Pundit!"

Lepus blinked at Cloy, stunned by her words and unorthodox approach. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and finally he sighed, restoring the impregnable mask that seemed to usually cover his expression. He turned to Pundit, speaking flatly, "She's right, I'm sorry. I aggravated one of my own sore spots. I hope I haven't hurt you in any way."

Pundit glanced at him, his expression ever so slightly sour, "It's nothing," he lied.

Lepus stared at him doubtfully. Cloy cleared her throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "So, Lepus, how would you like a tour of the rest of the Abbey?"

The hare turned to Cloy and shrugged, "I need to find my way around, now don't I?"

Pundit sighed and shook his head, mumbling, "Answering a question with a question never makes a clear conversation."

The other two looked at him curiously. Pundit shook his head and addressed Lepus directly, "Alright then, we'll start with the grounds, and work our way inside and up. Follow me… please," he added as an afterthought.

They started south towards the beehives. Pundit regarded the hare curiously, "Why don't you talk like other hares. I don't think I've heard you say 'jolly good' or 'wot wot' or anything like that even once."

Lepus stopped as if he had walked into a brick wall. He glanced skyward as if beseeching the heavens to spare him before treating Pundit to a hard stare, "Sore spot," he stated flatly.

Pundit raised his paws quickly, "Say no more, I get it, and I'll drop it."

The young hare nodded gratefully, "Thank you."

Cloy gazed up at the hare compassionately. She said softly, "Whatever it is, I'm sorry."

Lepus sighed in exasperation and looked skyward. He bit his lip and then looked down at Cloy, "Thanks, but I'm trying to _forget_ it. You aren't letting me."

Cloy nodded, wisely biting back any further discussion, "Sorry."

For the next three hours, Pundit and Cloy led Lepus into every part of Redwall Abbey. Cloy would explain where they were, and what was done there (unless it was blatantly obvious, like the dormitories), and Pundit would frequently add moments of historical importance that had happened in virtually every room of the Abbey. He frequent historical lectures sometimes were too much for Lepus to follow, especially when he was overawed by the majesty of Great Hall. At these times he would simply ignore Pundit and gaze around in wonder.

Finally as the sun was setting, and they returned to the western lawns. Cloy turned with a smile and a small hop to Lepus, "So, now that you've seen our whole home, what do you think of it?"

Lepus shot a sideways glance and wry smile at Pundit, "It sure has a lot of history."

Pundit threw his paws in the air dramatically, "Oh, so I wasn't completely wasting my breath! Hurrah!"

Lepus rolled his eyes at Pundit's attempted humor, "No, you weren't. Other than that, it's what I said before. This Abbey is the most impressive place I've seen. It's huge and grand."

Pundit's jaw slackened in shock, "Even more than Salamandastron?"

Lepus shrugged, "I don't know, I couldn't compare them. I've never seen the legendary mountain. I was a born and raised in the Border Patrol."

"Oh."

Lepus turned to face the main gate, and then his eyes widened in disbelief and horror. Cloy looked at him curiously, "What is it?"

A look of dark fury overcame the hare's features and he began walking away, towards what he had seen. Pundit and Cloy turned to see, and both were struck with shock. Two foxes, one a vixen, were walking freely towards the Abbey building, with a pair of hares watching them closely. Suddenly Pundit gasped as an image of the same two foxes at the head of a vast army flashed into his mind. Cloy turned her wide-eyed gaze at him in surprise, "What? Are you just now realizing that those are foxes in our grounds?"

Pundit stared, shaking his head as he watched Lepus break into a furious charge toward the foxes, "I've seen those two foxes before," he muttered, "In my dreams, just last night." He groaned and held his head as the full dream returned to him, "Oh, Martin," he gasped, "What do they have to do with all that horror?"

Cloy stared at him worriedly, "Pundit, what happened?"

Pundit looked up, his eyes seeming empty of emotion, "No time, we've got to get over there."

With that, the young mouse took off after Lepus, who was rapidly approaching the two foxes. Cloy stared in disbelief at him for a moment, then followed.

FFS:B1:AOS

Lepus was seeing red, literally. He charged the two foxes, the male of who regarded him with curiosity and motioned the vixen to stand back. With a howl, the border patrol hare threw himself at the well-built, leather clad male fox, hurtling a crushing right fist at his face, which was suddenly no longer there. He vaguely noticed the two hare escort stepping in, only for the vixen to wave them back.

FFS:B1:AOS

When Pundit and Cloy arrived at the scene, Lepus was punching, kicking, and head butting at the fox, but to no avail, for he couldn't land a single blow. All his attacks were either skillfully dodged, or casually redirected to throw him off balance. Pundit stared in awe, it was a dance of paws and bodies, one that seemed to be exhausting Lepus, but the fox wasn't even breathing hard.

The Abbess came angrily to the scene, preparing to step into the fight and break it up, but the vixen caught her paw. Pundit watched curiously. Violet pulled her paw from the vixen's grasp, giving her a hard stare as she prepared to proceed, but the vixen simply stepped between her and the fight and said calmly, "They'll both be just fine. If you step in, however, all three of you will end up getting hurt."

Abbess Violet folded her arms, and glared up at the vixen, "May I remind you that you are a guest here? We do not allow violence within this Abbey!" she stormed, "You've broken that rule almost right away!"

"On the contrary," the vixen stated firmly, "it was the hare who attacked us. Watch. You'll see that the hare attacks viciously, while Brushtail merely defends."

Violet turned and stared at the fight a moment. Pundit and Cloy worked their way over to her through the swiftly gathering crowd of woodlanders, "It's true Mother Abbess, Lepus saw the foxes and then went mad," the assistant recorder explained.

"Oh is that right then?" Violet demanded whirling on the two escorting hares, "Why didn't you step in, Captain Quickblade?"

The taller, dark featured hare, Captain Quickblade, gestured angrily at the vixen, "She wouldn't let us."

"For the same reason I wouldn't let you, Abbess" the vixen explained as Violet turned back to face her, "Anyone who steps into that melee will only cause everyone to get hurt."

Cloy looked up at the vixen. She was a well-built creature, smooth muscled, tall, and strong, but also carried herself gracefully and with nobility. She had a certain amount of natural beauty to her. She was dressed in a thick, weatherworn leather tunic, belted around her middle with a militaristic buckle. Cloy saw it was an almost identical outfit to what the male fox wore, but somehow more feminine in style. She turned to the Abbess in confusion, "Abbess, who is this?"

Violet sighed, "That is the question that we all are wondering, Cloy, we'll find out together."

Suddenly there was a thud and a cry. Lepus was flat on his back, with the fox standing over him. The young hare looked up, glaring hatred at the fox, "Go on then, finish me off!"

The fox sighed and sat down casually on the grass, "Why on earth would I do that?"

"You're a fox," Lepus growled, "it's what your kind does."

A shadow fell across the fox's face. He stared at Lepus seriously, "Then you are behind the times, my friend. That is not always true anymore. Now, what is the name of my assailant?"

"Lepus, of the Border Patrol," the young hare snapped, "And I'm not the friend of any _vermin_."

The fox smiled and sort of bowed while sitting, ignoring the jab, "Well, Lepus of the Border Patrol, I am Brushtail Firefur of Nowhere."

"Nowhere?" Ash's voice piped up humorously from across the circle of creatures, "Where's that, ha-ha!"

"It means he's homeless, Ash," Pundit scolded him, "that's not something to laugh at, even about a fox."

Ash raised his paws defensively, "Sorry, I'm just joking."

"You're always 'just joking' mate," Brook commented from beside him.

Squirrelqueen Aspen approached Brushtail warily. If she had seen him in the forest she would have struck first and asked questions later, but they were in Redwall. She would be breaking the Redwallers law of hospitality, though how that hospitality could be extended to _vermin_ was far beyond her. "So then, Brushtail, who are you, and what do you want with this Abbey?"

The fox raised his eyebrows in amusement and turned to the vixen, "Why does everybeast seem to think we want something here?"

The vixen smiled and shrugged, "Well, using the literal definition of 'something,' we do."

"That's debatable," Brushtail said.

The vixen folded her arms and cocked her head to one side, demanding, "How?"

"Well…" Brushtail paused, stuck for an answer.

Pundit studied the two foxes, wondering how on earth they could be in his dreams. When the discussion turned to literature and vocabulary, however, he was eager to take part, "Maybe because 'something' could imply the 'thing' is a literal, physical object?"

Brushtail cracked a small grin at the young mouse, "Precisely! However, if you must know," he continued, turning back to the Squirrelqueen, "What we want is friendship, hospitality, and a chance to be heard, after this legendary feast of course."

Aspen's eyes narrowed in critical disbelief. She shook her head and turned to the vixen, "So, who are you then."

"Oh, pardon my rudeness," The vixen apologized, bowing formally, "My name is Triantra Firefur, but most just call me Tria."

"You share the same surname," Squirrelqueen Aspen observed.

"Yes we do," Brushtail stated, "We also share the surname with a few hundred other foxes alive today. The Firefur line has been around for oh, maybe three or four hundred seasons now."

"So who exactly are the Firefurs?" Abbess Violet asked, "In our discussions at the gate you never made that clear."

"Nor will we now," Tria answered solemnly, "That is-"

"They're hiding something!" Lepus spat out, leaping to his feet, "We can't trust them, they should be thrown out!"

Violet stared down the irate young hare, "Sir, I will inform you that we _don't _trust them. They are under constant surveillance while they're here, and we've sent out patrols of squirrels and hares to see if there is any threat. If we do find they are connected to a vermin threat of any kind, they will be thrown out, and we will be ready."

"However, that won't be needed," Brushtail insisted, "We are no different than any other citizen of Mossflower. Actually, that's not true. We aren't citizens of Mossflower, and we _are_ different, very much so. It's just that our values and yours are very similar. Actually… well, it's complicated."

"Where are they going to stay?" Sister Morah asked nervously.

This led to a chorus of questions, "How will they be watched?" "Will we be safe?" "Were they with anyone else?" "Won't they spoil the festivities?" "Did Lord Mydar agree to this?"

Violet raised her paws to call for silence. When the talk and continual questions settled down she spoke, "Everything has been arranged. These two foxes will sleep on the battlements, that was actually their suggestion. The sentries will be watching them as well as the outside. Lord Mydar has arranged for two of his officers to accompany Brushtail and Triantra wherever they go, and he's sent out patrols to see if there is any armed force nearby. Please, try to be hospitable to our guests, they will be sure to do the same for you, or they'll have me to answer to."

Violet made the last comment while giving the Firefur foxes a pointed look. They nodded understanding. Violet turned back to the crowd of abbey residents and woodlanders, "Now go on, there's nothing more to see here. Spread the word, so no one will be caught off guard, we have… _special_ guests!"

The Abbess turned to go. The crowd dispersed, muttering and whispering among themselves uneasily, giving the foxes suspicious glances. Pundit turned to Cloy and patted her paw, saying a quick, "Hang on," before running after the Abbess, catching her by the hem of her robe at the Abbey steps. She whirled around and gasped in surprise, "Oh! Pundit, you startled me. What is it?"

"Mother Abbess," Pundit babbled, "I know they must have done _something _for you to trust them enough to let them in. After all, foxes and vermin of all kinds have been the source of death and conflict in the land for thousands of seasons. What did they do?"

Violet sighed and placed a paw on her forehead tiredly, "That's the thing Pundit, they pledged their swords to the defense of all goodbeasts, and then freely gave them to the Long Patrol guards."

Pundit blinked at her in stunned amazement, "What?"

Violet smiled knowingly at him, "Yes, that was my reaction too. We also talked a great deal. They're very good at talking, that much is certain," suddenly she cocked her head to one side and looked curiously at him, "Why don't you talk to them yourself? Val will be taking them on a tour of the Abbey, they do need to know how to get around after all. You should join them, ask Brushtail and Triantra some of those questions that a plaguing both our minds."

Pundit shook his head, "I can't, I'm supposed to watch Ash, remember? I also have to find Lepus at some point, and first there's the actual chores, like-"

"Pundit," the Abbess interrupted with a smile, "forget your duties. Find out about those two foxes. We need to know more about them, and are good at getting to the heart of a matter. You have the afternoon off, and if that isn't enough, then I make it an order. I can see that you're even more interested in their arrival and more surprised by them than the rest of us, so go, solve your mystery."

Pundit stared at the Abbess in wonder. "You-" he started, only to pause. He shook his head and gave a slight, wry smile, "Thank you Mother Abbess."

He turned and jogged back to Cloy, who immediately assaulted him with questions, "What is it? What's up with you? What's wrong?"

Pundit watched Brother Val, the Abbess's productive husband, leading the two foxes north toward the hedges and gardens with Captain Quickblade and the other Long Patrol officer a few paces behind. He quickly took Cloy's paws and promised, "I'll tell you later, tonight after dinner. For now I need to figure out more of the answers myself."

With that he turned and moved past her, jogging to catch up with the foxes as he called in farewell, "See you later!"

Cloy watched him go with concern and waved once. She murmured, "Yeah, see you later," and then turned to find Lepus, planning to enlist him in helping her keep an eye on that impudent rascal of a squirrelprince, Ash.


End file.
